Sea Shell in a Storm
 
Most of my family’s vacation traditions happened because we intended for them to happen – the first dinner at The Original Hot Spot, Fascination before setting foot on an amusement pier, and crabbing when the tide chart declared it would be optimal, among many other things. But sometimes traditions happened by accident, and despite seeming insignificant at the time, become just as cherished as the others.
 
The fact that one happened with regularity defied all odds, because it depended on a great number of uncontrollable variables – a perfect storm, so to speak. In fact, a storm in the literal sense – not only a thunderstorm, but the kind that only happens along the Jersey shore. Anyone who’s spent any time “down the shore” (to us northern NJ natives) knows the kind: the sky turns ominously, end-of-the-world dark, rain comes down in diagonal sheets, and the streets fill with water as if Wildwood were adjacent to an overflowing bathtub.
 
It would all start with the post-boardwalk trip to Sea Shell ice cream, still a block from the boardwalk on the corner of Rio Grande Avenue. Vanilla fudge for my father, because that’s always been his favorite, and likely mint chocolate chip for me (I feel bad for not knowing the favorites of my mother and brother, maybe because they didn’t have favorites?) Sea Shell was always a bit of a challenge that time of night, when everyone else was also leaving the boardwalk and wanting something sweet and cold on the way back to their own hotel rooms. Parking wasn’t easy because there really wasn’t any aside from a few spaces next to the old Cape Cod-style house-turned-ice cream parlor, and the line to be served at the counter extended outside the building, past the porch, and onto Rio Grande’s sidewalk. Sometimes my father would idle the car and send my mother and one of us to procure the treats.
 
We’d get back to the Cape Cod Inn just in time for the deluge to begin – we’d always swear there was no rain in the forecast, and blame it on Wildwood’s weather not having much connection to what might have been going on in the real world on the mainland. Outside our room, we’d sit in our chairs and admire the effects of the storm while spooning ice cream into our mouths – the storms never lasted very long, and in their wake was always an odd sense of the island having been brought back to life (lousy smells from the overflowing sewers notwithstanding). I can’t count how many times I’d watch the rain taper off to reveal the glow of the Tangiers sign across the street reflecting in the puddles. With the possibility of both the Cape Cod Inn and Tangiers motels getting new identities next year, it reminds me to cherish all the memories, even the ones that make little sense as they’re being made. Sometimes the accidental memories are the best ones.
Sea Shell in a Storm
 
Most of my family’s vacation traditions happened because we intended for them to happen – the first dinner at The Original Hot Spot, Fascination before setting foot on an amusement pier, and crabbing when the tide chart declared it would be optimal, among many other things. But sometimes traditions happened by accident, and despite seeming insignificant at the time, become just as cherished as the others.
 
The fact that one happened with regularity defied all odds, because it depended on a great number of uncontrollable variables – a perfect storm, so to speak. In fact, a storm in the literal sense – not only a thunderstorm, but the kind that only happens along the Jersey shore. Anyone who’s spent any time “down the shore” (to us northern NJ natives) knows the kind: the sky turns ominously, end-of-the-world dark, rain comes down in diagonal sheets, and the streets fill with water as if Wildwood were adjacent to an overflowing bathtub.
 
It would all start with the post-boardwalk trip to Sea Shell ice cream, still a block from the boardwalk on the corner of Rio Grande Avenue. Vanilla fudge for my father, because that’s always been his favorite, and likely mint chocolate chip for me (I feel bad for not knowing the favorites of my mother and brother, maybe because they didn’t have favorites?) Sea Shell was always a bit of a challenge that time of night, when everyone else was also leaving the boardwalk and wanting something sweet and cold on the way back to their own hotel rooms. Parking wasn’t easy because there really wasn’t any aside from a few spaces next to the old Cape Cod-style house-turned-ice cream parlor, and the line to be served at the counter extended outside the building, past the porch, and onto Rio Grande’s sidewalk. Sometimes my father would idle the car and send my mother and one of us to procure the treats.
 
We’d get back to the Cape Cod Inn just in time for the deluge to begin – we’d always swear there was no rain in the forecast, and blame it on Wildwood’s weather not having much connection to what might have been going on in the real world on the mainland. Outside our room, we’d sit in our chairs and admire the effects of the storm while spooning ice cream into our mouths – the storms never lasted very long, and in their wake was always an odd sense of the island having been brought back to life (lousy smells from the overflowing sewers notwithstanding). I can’t count how many times I’d watch the rain taper off to reveal the glow of the Tangiers sign across the street reflecting in the puddles. With the possibility of both the Cape Cod Inn and Tangiers motels getting new identities next year, it reminds me to cherish all the memories, even the ones that make little sense as they’re being made. Sometimes the accidental memories are the best ones.